Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (47 page)

Did his mother really expect him to care about some minor infraction right now?

She rested her head against the back of the couch. “Your sister, who clearly knew about Hannah before we did, said the girl left here with money and a plan and that she is believed to be completely safe, right?”

He’d answered a few of Carol’s questions when she called him earlier in the week, but he hadn’t realized she was giving a full report to their parents. “That’s what we believe. She called—”

“We?” his dad interrupted.

Taking a seat, Paul counted to ten, trying to calm his mounting frustrations. Contrary to what his folks believed, he was an adult, and they were the ones out of line. “I talked to her brother Luke yesterday, and earlier today he came to talk to me.”

His mom glanced at his dad before turning back to Paul. “You’ve been in Owl’s Perch all week?”

“Of course.” And he’d be here all next week too. “My fiancée is missing. Am I supposed to go about life as if nothing has happened?”

His parents retreated into silence again.

“Paul,” his father began gently, “regardless of how we may sound, we’re sorry for the pain you’re going through. We really are. This is all quite a shock to us, and—”

“And you weren’t honest with us,” his mother interrupted.

“Hazel,” Dad chided.

“He wasn’t,” she insisted. “Nearly three years ago you sat at my kitchen table and promised me you’d never get involved with any of those Englischer girls on campus. I’ve asked you about it since then, and each time you gave me your word. And not once did you mention this Amish girl, not once.” Her eyes flashed with anger.

“I know, Mom. But you have to understand—I was trying to protect her.”

“From who? Me?” she screeched.

Paul wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. “You have relatives in Owl’s Perch. It was best to keep it a secret for her sake.”

“I won’t mention how well that seems to have worked for you, but I will tell you that you must return to school and work. She’s gone. I know we don’t sound like we’re sorry, but we are. If for nothing else, for the pain this is causing you.”

She was right about one thing—they didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

“Let her go, Paul,” Dad added gently. “If she’d wanted to stay, she would have.”

Apparently they expected him to put aside the fact that Hannah was gone and simply move on with his life. “I’ve been thinking about teaming up with a private investigator and going to find her.” He stared at his shoes, wondering how Hannah would feel about being tracked down when she obviously didn’t want to be found.

His mother harrumphed. “You have obligations here.”

Standing, Paul rubbed the back of his neck. She was right, and he knew it; he just didn’t want to give in to it. Hannah had left everything behind. Couldn’t he?

Compassion shone in his dad’s eyes. “I never doubted you had someone out this way.” Dad cocked his head, with a half smile on his face. “But here’s the problem, Son. Against what most of our sect of Mennonites believe, you talked us into allowing you to go to college, saying you had to have a specific college degree to carry out your dream of helping families. I know you’ve worked hard to pay for your truck and insurance, gas, books, food, dorm, clothing.” He made a circular motion with his hand as if the list could go on and on. “But if you leave school now, you’ll lose the scholarships that were based on your finishing school and working in state for two years. You can’t afford to pay for your schooling without those scholarships, and neither can we.”

His mother grabbed a pillow off the couch and pulled it against her chest. “If you want to help families, start with your own. You can’t leave us drowning in bills from this educational venture of yours while you’re chasing someone who left you.”

“The scholarships don’t work that way, Mom. You and Dad will not be held accountable if I fail to keep the agreement. It’s my responsibility and my problem. But you don’t understand about Han—”

“Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand,” his mother interrupted. “She hasn’t called you. She hasn’t let you know where she is. She obviously doesn’t want you to find her.”

“I appreciate your voice of concern, Mom.”

“Do not get smart with me, Paul Waddell.”

He stifled a groan. Their adult-child relationship needed help, but now wasn’t the time to argue that she was guilty of dishing out sarcasm too. “Don’t believe the gossip about her. I know it’s not true.”

“I have no doubt that most of the rumors I’ve heard are lies.” She shrugged, as if Hannah’s innocence was unimportant. “However, what I believe or even what you believe doesn’t change anything.”

Paul shoved his hands into his pockets. “How can you say that? You never met her, so she doesn’t seem real to you. This isn’t some silly crush. I want to marry her.”

“And because of that, I’m glad she’s gone!” His mother rose, anger carved in her face. “How could you think of marrying someone I’ve never met? Someone who was pregnant for months without you even knowing it? Her whole life has been one secret after another, and when her house of cards fell, she ran—without regard for you.”

As his mother sliced him with her anger, it seemed he’d never really known her.

“Hazel,” his father scolded before he drew a deep breath and offered her a peacemaking smile, “why don’t you go upstairs and wake Mom from her nap. I need to talk to Paul alone.”

She turned and strode out of the room. Watching her climb the steps, Paul knew she had no respect for him as an adult. Oh, she loved him dearly—as long as he did things her way. But to her, his feelings were as insignificant as a child’s tears over a dropped candy bar—temporary and easily appeased.

“She’s hurting, Paul. I’ve tried to tell her for years that you had someone, but she wouldn’t believe you’d hide such a thing from us.”

“It had to be that way—”

His father held up his hand, stopping Paul in midsentence. “I get it.” He offered a weak smile. “If anyone in this family can understand, it’s me, along with your Uncle Samuel.”

“Uncle Samuel? How can an old bachelor understand this?”

He motioned Paul closer. “Gram doesn’t like anyone to talk about this. Consider it a family skeleton.”

Paul moved in and took a seat.

“When Samuel was about your age, he fell for a Catholic girl. Both families were ready to disown their children if they didn’t stop seeing each other. It broke both their hearts. Samuel was willing to leave his family over her, but she couldn’t do it. In his own way, he did leave the family over it, even though he still joins us for holidays and such. I’ve watched my older brother carry pain unlike anything I had ever imagined, and he did so for years.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“She eventually married someone her family approved of and had children. Your Uncle Samuel’s ache turned to stone, and he’s never been the same. Your mom was in the family throughout most of it. It’s part of the reason you’ve finagled too much freedom out of us; we’ve tried to handle your wanting more Englischer-type freedoms differently than my parents handled Samuel. Your mom thinks you never should have spent four years in college rooming with Englischers. You’ve become self-willed, Son. And expected too many family members to cover for you.”

Paul realized afresh the position he’d put Gram in. No wonder she kept waffling between respecting his feelings and putting up roadblocks to Hannah’s and his relationship. She didn’t want to carry the burden of standing between them, and yet she understood how Mr. Lapp felt about his daughter marrying outside their Amish community.

He drew a breath. “Hannah called.”

“Here?” Uncertainty flicked through his dad’s eyes.

Shaking his head, Paul glanced at the stairway and lowered his voice. “She called her best friend, Mary. They have a phone shanty and an answering machine.”

“What did she say?”

“That she’s safe and …” Nothing. She’d said nothing else—not really.

“She’s not coming home, is she?”

Paul shook his head. “But I’ve talked to this private investigator, and—”

“Son,” his dad interrupted him, “what are you going to bring her home to? An angry community, family, and bishop? To join your family, which will be another set of stresses to work through. Aren’t those the very things she needed to get free from?”

“Dad, I can’t just—”

“Can’t what? Give her time? Respect that she’s in the throes of grief and deserves a little space?”

“What if she doesn’t return?” Paul moaned.

His dad tapped his fingertips together, thinking before responding. “Making her come back to this mess isn’t the answer—at least not yet. Finish school. Keep your scholarship by working in state for two years. We both know the church leaders may have some concerns if you choose to work for the state beyond your internship.” His dad smiled. “I think your job choice is fine, always have. But if it’s going to pull you away from your faith, find a different line of work. It sounds like Hannah has enough help. And she knows your phone number, right?”

Paul nodded. “But she thinks I abandoned her.”

“That’s the toughest part to live with. Still, she has to know what caused you to react the way you did. If she really loves you, she’ll reach out again, at least once more before giving up.” His dad leaned forward. “There’s something else on my mind. The preacher and bishop want to talk with you. That has your mother every bit as upset as your intent to marry a girl we’ve never met. You need to make plans to meet with them. They’re going to question you on points of the church disciplines. They know you joined the faith at fourteen. What they want to know is how faithful you’ve been. For four years your roommates have been watching television, going to movies, and partying. Our church leaders want to know where you stand.”

Paul nodded. He had nothing to hide. It was never his intention to use his freedoms for anything but pursuing Hannah—and maybe an occasional Senators game. Pursuing an Amish girl wasn’t against any part of the church disciplines, and even going to a game wasn’t considered a huge issue—just things he needed to agree not to do again if he wanted to remain in good standing with his church.

The two men sat in silence until Paul finally rose. “I need more time to think through your advice about Hannah. You might be right about giving her some time and returning to school and work. But even if that’s what I do, if she lets me know where she is, I’m out of here.”

Without waiting for a response, Paul went upstairs. Feeling as if he’d climbed into the very cage his Lion-heart had been freed from, he went to his room and closed the door. With his mind and heart elsewhere, Paul wondered how he was supposed to cope with the pressure of school and work, especially with the added issue of being a week behind on everything.

When the phone in his room rang, he snatched it up. “Hello.”

“Paul? It’s Dorcas.”

“Hey.” He tried to keep the fullness of his disappointment from his voice, but he knew it was a vain effort.

“I guess you heard that we confessed to the preachers.”

“Yeah.” And he wasn’t going to apologize for the choices she’d made. He’d never once invited her to a game. His sister did that. Last time they all went to a game, Dorcas had on a dress with lace and had a ticket in hand, all set to go whether he joined them or not.

“I don’t mean to bother you. I just thought you might want to talk.” She paused.

Suddenly Paul had an idea. Dorcas was only a few years older than Hannah. She hadn’t been raised as strictly as Hannah, but the similarities could be useful, and she definitely had the mind-set of a female. His parents knew what they wanted. Paul knew what he wanted. But maybe Dorcas could help him figure out what Hannah might be thinking and feeling. “Now that you’ve called, I’d like your opinion on something.”

H
annah lay still as the nurse removed the IV needle from the back of her hand. Soon she wouldn’t have to wait on Dr. Lehman’s plans, all of them relying on various ifs. If he found something solid, if he could locate her aunt—if, if, if. As soon as the nurse left, Hannah would get dressed and sneak out.

The nurse put a Band-Aid in place. “All done.”

“Thank you.” If Hannah had realized removing the needle was that easy, she’d have done it herself last night and been long gone by now.

“You’re welcome.” The nurse removed the needle from the IV bag and placed it in the small, red plastic container that hung on the wall behind the head of the bed. She wrapped the tubing loosely over the IV stand before grabbing the thermometer off the table she’d set it on when she entered the room.

While the nurse took her temperature and pulse rate, Hannah thought about what the doctor had said yesterday. His offer to help was nice, but she’d already ridden to her aunt’s place. It was abandoned. There was no sense in waiting for the doctor to come back with that news and bring social services with him. No one was going to make her return to the land of persecution—no one. She owed the hospital money, and she’d pay them, but not today. Right now she needed to slip out of this place before—

“Temp’s good. Pulse is good.” The nurse gathered the pieces of tape, Band-Aid wrappers, and the thermometer’s sheath and threw them into the trash. She removed the bed coverings and gently pressed on Hannah’s abdomen. “Any pain?”

“No.”

“Good.” She replaced the sheet and blanket. “You’re healing remarkably well. Keep it up, and you’ll be out of here in no time. Probably within a few days.”

Oh, I’ll be out of here in no time, all right. The minute you leave—

The door to her room swung open, and Dr. Lehman strolled in, carrying a short stack of papers. Hannah chafed at the interruption.

Lifting the almost-empty IV bag off its perch, the nurse glanced up. “Your patient is doing much better today than yesterday.”

“The benefit of youth …” Dr. Lehman took a seat as the nurse left the room. He raised both eyebrows before closing his eyes and sighing. “I’d bet money on what you’re planning, Hannah. Don’t do it.”

A prickly feeling, as if she’d been caught stealing eggs from the henhouse, ran through her body. This man seemed to know her thoughts and feelings as soon as they came to her.

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated at her lack of trust. But if she couldn’t trust her own parents or even Paul, she wasn’t about to give this stranger a chance to ruin her future. He sat there, skimming his papers. She wished he’d hurry up so she could get dressed and go.

He turned his attention to her. “Hannah, I think it’s a great idea for you to pursue this dream of learning about the health field. But getting a degree in any area will be difficult. It’s hard enough for honor students who have graduated from high school, but as a seventeen-year-old with an eighth-grade education, you’ll have years of learning to make up for.”

She bristled. “Every summer for three years Paul brought me his college textbooks and taught me things from them. I can do this. I know I can.”

He cocked his head, studying her. “Is this the same Paul who asked you to marry him?”

Hannah nodded.

“If he was in college, then he’s not Amish.” A troubled look crossed his face. “You weren’t planning on remaining among the People, were you?”

She tilted her head up, irritated by his grilling. “No.”

Dr. Lehman tapped the papers in his hand. “With all that’s happened to you, I can understand why you left the way you did. And I can’t see asking you to return—not until you’re emotionally physically and financially on your feet enough that you can walk away from your parents, if need be.”

He’s not going to send me back?
Suddenly she wanted to jump out of bed and dance around the room.

Dr. Lehman sighed. “And I certainly can’t ask you to try to work things out with Paul. What can a seventeen-year-old girl possibly know about choosing a life mate?”

Something defiant in her quaked under his attitude. She’d been so sure about Paul, who he was, who they would be together for a lifetime. But it all changed in the length of time it took him to brush against her rounded stomach, run to his truck, and then take her portion of their money before she could get to it. If that wasn’t enough to break her, he’d had some girl in his apartment the one time she’d tried to call him before she boarded the train.

Dr. Lehman showed her the first page of the papers in his hand. In bold letters across the top were the words “Stark State College, Alliance Satellite, State Street.” The very idea of attending college raised thoughts of failure, causing a disconnect from all joy.

He glanced at her and then at the papers, a frown creasing his brow. “You can go to classes to study for a GED. It’s equivalent to a high-school diploma as far as qualifying you to begin the process of getting into college. Then you’ll need to attend college classes in science and math to qualify for whatever medical field you intend to enter. That may take years longer than you’re thinking, but your future will be in your hands.” He scratched his brow. “You haven’t been using your best asset in trying to get a job. You speak Pennsylvania Dutch. Look for work and training at clinics based on that. Why, I might hire you myself to help in my usual line of work if I needed someone and you knew how to log info into the computer.”

“What do you usually do?”

He rolled the papers up and tapped them against his leg. “Well, I don’t work at that clinic you came to. I was just there filling in as a favor.” He stifled a yawn. “Aside from managing a women’s clinic for the poor, I’m the doctor at two home-style Amish birthing clinics. I work in conjunction with some nurse-midwives. With a little effort, I could learn the language, but I always have one Amish woman on staff so I’ll know what’s being said when a patient is talking to a family member. That way I can address some of their fears or concerns they might not ask me directly. And the Plain women are willing to ask them questions in private. The assistant then comes to me, I answer, and she shares that answer in their native tongue. It’s the best way I’ve found to spread medical advice to the Plain communities. You understand the need for that kind of information. You came close to dying because of the lack of it. Well, that mixed with your stubbornness.”

“I can’t work at an Amish clinic.”

“Sure you can. You think you’re the first girl not to be baptized into the faith? And give the Amish community a little respect, will you? Even if they learned the truth about you, most wouldn’t want to make you go back. Actually very few would dare meddle in such a decision.”

“Says who? I’m the one who kept receiving letters upon letters begging me to repent or be ready to pay the price.”

“That was different. Members of your own household and your church leaders were probably instigating the letter writing to stop you from sinning. Besides, here no one has to know who you were.”

The man was crazy. She wasn’t jeopardizing her freedom in order to become some type of public-service announcement over medical advice she knew nothing about.

Dr. Lehman tossed the rolled-up papers onto her lap. “It’s my best guess that with enough time and training, you’d be a first-rate midwife, Hannah—regardless of how far you’re able to go in school. But that idea is pretty far into the future—” His pager went off, interrupting him. He took it off his hip and focused on it.

Midwife?

Words her mother had spoken as far back as Hannah could remember tugged at her.
Someday you’ll make a good midwife, Hannah
. But she herself would never again conceive. How would she stand helping other women bring their babies into the world?

He clipped the pager back onto his belt. “But for now there are family clinics for the Plain, and there are Plain folk who go to Englischer clinics. Those will be good places for you to look for work. Just tell them you speak the language and are willing to go to night school to become trained and that you’ll learn how to use a computer.”

Not at all sure she liked his plan for success, she laid the scroll of papers on the side table. His leathered wrinkles softened into a smile. “I’m willing to arrange things where you don’t have to go back.”

Goose bumps ran up her arms. He’d hinted at this a minute ago, but did he really mean it?

He leaned back in his chair. “But I’ll expect you to agree to a few terms.”

“What kind of terms?”

“You’ll need to attend counseling for victims of rape.”

A rush of embarrassment swirled through her.

He cocked his head. “There won’t be any men at the meetings. And every woman there has been a victim of the same crime—a lot of times even the counselors.”

Disbelief at his request surged within her, but somewhere inside she knew she needed the kind of help he was talking about. Just an aroma like one from that day or a sound or a glimpse of blueberries, like the ones she’d been bringing home in a bucket that day, made her chest constrict and her mind cloud with confusion and panic. “Okay.”

He patted her arm. “Now that we’ve got all that settled, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He opened the door.

A thin woman using a wooden cane came to the doorway. She was about the age of Hannah’s parents and looked much too young to need a walking aid. A silky, navy-blue scarf covered her whole head, leaving no strand of hair in sight. Her eyebrows were very thin, and Hannah wondered if she had any hair under her head covering. She wore a matching caped dress, and she looked amazingly familiar, though Hannah couldn’t place why.

They soaked each other in before Hannah broke the silence. “Are you Zabeth?”

The woman dipped her chin, looking disappointed. “Your father must not have ever spoken of me, or you’d know how to pronounce it.” She lifted her head, looking determined not to care.

Dr. Lehman chuckled. “Well, there’s no doubt you’re related. Not only do you two favor each other, but you have some of the same gestures. I noticed that when I met your aunt last night.”

Indignation nipped at Hannah. “You met her before you had me agree to go to counsel—”

Her aunt stepped forward. “It’s pronounced Zuh-beth. It’s short for Elizabeth. So it’s said just like the name without the first three letters.” She smiled and shifted the cane to her other hand. “Hannah, once I was able to prove to his satisfaction that I am indeed your aunt, he talked with me about you going to counseling and getting an education. We decided that you need to make your own choices about your future. I sew curtains and bedspreads for a living, and you’re welcome to join me in that.”

Hannah wanted to set her aunt’s mind at ease. “I’ll pull more than my weight, and I’ll—”

Dr. Lehman pointed a finger at her. “Not for a while you won’t. You need to stay off your feet and rest for at least three weeks. During that time you can decide what you’re going to do—go on to school and train at clinics or go to work for your aunt. While you’re recuperating, you’ll use the money you arrived here with to cover food and such. When your surgeon gives the go-ahead, you can find a job and start paying off your hospital bill.”

She’d always worked as hard as she felt like, without anyone telling her otherwise. Then again, she’d barely survived her last round of stubbornness. She nodded. “Okay.”

Dr. Lehman offered a brief smile. “Good. I need to go. Bye, ladies.”

When the door closed behind him, Zabeth propped the cane against the bed and gingerly walked to the window. “How’s Zeb?”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Hannah licked her lips. “I don’t know. He’s physically well enough, I suppose. Aside from that, he’s angry and unreasonable.”

Turning from the view to look at Hannah, Zabeth sighed. “I was hopin’ he’d changed.” Sadness filled her eyes. “Dr. Lehman said you were determined not to return home. But he didn’t say why you’re in this hospital or how you came to arrive in Alliance.”

“I came hoping to find you.”

Zabeth toyed with the blinds. “How did you know about me?”

“I found a letter from you hidden in my parents’ bedroom.”

“Ah, now things are making more sense.” Zabeth eased to the side of the bed and sat down. “What happened to make you leave?”

Hannah liked the woman. Her mannerisms said she was reserved, but her words were laced with honesty and gentleness. Unable to stand the idea of keeping any more secrets from those she lived with, Hannah began sharing the events of her life in almost a whisper. Before long she was speaking in a normal tone, summing up what her life had been like since last August.

When she had finished, tears ran down both their faces. Zabeth passed her a box of tissues before grabbing a handful herself.

“And now Dr. Lehman says I’ll never have babies.”

Zabeth wrapped her frail arms around Hannah and held her. She didn’t try to offer any words of comfort. For that Hannah was grateful.

Zabeth pulled away and smiled at her. “I’m glad you’ve come to be with me, Hannah-girl.”

Hannah nodded. “Why were you banned all these years?”